


Requiem

by Xochiquetzl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Catholic Severus, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, One of My Favorites, Parental Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-12 20:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11169924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xochiquetzl/pseuds/Xochiquetzl
Summary: The war is over.  Both Severus and Remus survived and have returned to teach at Hogwarts.  In this alternate future, an elderly Tobias Snape has finally died, leaving Severus to pick up the pieces.





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Endless heartfelt gratitude to Geminia905 for the beta! And thank you to Alisanne, Coriaria, and Geri_Chan for reading while I posted it for Moonlight Madness. Last but not least, thanks to DeathDayDungeon/Jaxon for [convincing me Severus is Catholic](https://deathdaydungeon.tumblr.com/post/161522507943/severus-snape-and-the-cross-of-st-christopher).

**Introitus**  
  
The Great Hall was filled with students and their talk and laughter over dinner.  Gold plates gleamed in the candlelight.  The room was flooded with delicious smells:  roast meats, potatoes, bread, vegetables.  Overhead, the ceiling showed a beautiful, starry night sky. 

Up at the Head Table, Remus looked out over the uproar and smiled. The happiest day of his after-war life had probably been the day Minerva had asked him to come back and teach. Not only because he loved teaching, but because it had brought him back into contact with another, more unexpected source of happiness. He smiled and glanced at Severus, who was, as always, dressed entirely in black.  The candlelight accentuated his cheekbones.  
  
"Do stop leering at me," Severus murmured. "People will think I've broken up with you."  
  
Remus laughed out loud.  Next to him, Severus smirked. 

The students had no idea, of course. They thought they were unexpected friends.

A large barn owl swooped into the hall, brown and white, gliding elegantly towards the Head Table. Remus watched it approach with trepidation. It wasn’t the time of day for owls, so it was almost certainly something bad. It dropped a rolled up parchment next to Severus with a thud and flew away, a flutter of feathers.  
  
Severus took the parchment. No one who didn't know him would recognize that he was bracing himself for bad news. Remus supposed he was too still, too impassive. He didn't hesitate to unroll it, nor did he hurry.  
  
His jaw tightened, and he shuddered, but almost imperceptibly. He rolled the parchment back up, handed it to Remus, and said, "Please make my excuses." He stood up and walked out of the room. It was very unlike him.  No one seemed to notice except Minerva, who gave Remus a curious look.   
  
Remus watched Severus leave, then unrolled the parchment.  It was still cool from the trip here. Written in dark brown ink on the tan parchment was the following:  
  
_Dear Mr. Snape:  
  
We regret to inform you that your father died peacefully in his sleep about an hour ago.  
  
As per your standing instructions, we immediately informed the parish in Spinner's End. The body has been sent to Brown and Littlefield in preparation for the funeral. Father Michael at Saint Bartholomew's awaits your instructions for the service itself. He will have to be contacted via telephone or in person, of course.  
  
You may pick up your father's remaining belongings at your convenience, or, if you prefer, we can ship the items to you.  
  
Please accept our sincerest condolences. We are very sorry for your loss.  
  
Sincerely yours,  
Matilda March and the staff of Dilys Derwent Elder Care Home _  
  
Well, fuck.

* * *

 

**Dies Irae**  
  
Severus closed the door to his quarters, shoved his fingers through his hair, and looked around. There were books and scraps of parchment scattered everywhere, along with clothing draped over the sofa.  He kept walking, into the bedroom, accidentally knocking over a mug on his nightstand.  It shattered, spilling cold, stale coffee everywhere.  He didn't care. 

He needed to pack. He needed to go to Cokeworth. He needed to talk to Father Michael about the funeral. He needed to....  
  
He was crying.  
  
Stupid. He rubbed his eyes roughly on his sleeve and got a suitcase out of the wardrobe:  a plain brown one that had once belonged to his mother. Muggle clothes. He needed a nice black Muggle suit, for the funeral. He should have one somewhere; he'd gotten one for the slew of funerals after the war. And ordinary Muggle clothes. It was probably a good thing that he favored black.  
  
He wanted to yell, throw things, but he knew it wouldn't make him feel any better. He opened drawers and started to pack instead.   
  
He found the jeans and the black shirts and the plain black trousers and threw them into the suitcase, but he couldn't remember where he'd put the suit. He looked in the wardrobe, but it wasn't there. Why was he such a slob? He should probably let the house elves in to tidy up, but he hated the thought of anyone touching his things.  His temper started to rise as he looked for it in drawers, slamming them when they didn't have what he wanted. Surely he would have hung it up? He turned back to the wardrobe and looked again, hangers rattling. It still wasn't in there.  
  
If he could only stop crying. He kicked the wardrobe, which responded with a satisfying thud.  It hurt neither him nor the wardrobe, so he considered doing it again. It crossed his mind that he could set the wardrobe on fire, but the suit might be in there and he needed it.  
  
The suit wasn't in there. He'd looked. And yet, he still hadn't found it.  
  
Remus came in without knocking. "Are you all right?"  
  
This was such a stupid question that Severus saw no need to answer it. "Where did I put my suit?"  
  
Remus walked right over to the wardrobe where he'd just looked--twice!--and pulled out the suit. An elegant string of profanity leapt to Severus' mind, but, fortunately, not his lips. Remus looked at his face, then said, "Would you like for me to pack for you?"  
  
Severus nodded and sat on the bed.  
  
Remus quietly and efficiently packed his suitcase, including shoes, socks, and underpants. And his toothbrush, which he always forgot. Then he sat next to Severus on the bed.  He smelled like soap and shampoo. "I'm coming with you. Obviously, you don't have to introduce me as your, um...."  
  
Severus thought he might actually laugh for a moment. "One should always avoid introducing someone as an 'um' in polite company."  
  
He thought Remus might laugh for a moment, too. One of the things he liked about Remus was that Remus found him genuinely funny. In a _you're witty_ sort of way, not in a _you're ridiculous_ way. He knew this for a fact because when Remus first came back to teach, Severus had become exasperated by Remus' incessant attempts to engage him in conversation and had peeked with legilimancy.  
  
This did, of course, bring up the problem of how he'd introduce Remus. "Boyfriend" sounded like they were a couple of adolescents. "Lover" was too much information. Many of the people in Cokeworth were surprisingly open-minded, but a few were... "I'll refer to you as my friend."  
  
"I'd be honored," Remus said. "I know that's not a term you use lightly."  
  
Remus was almost certainly sincere, but... "I'll introduce you as my friend because I think I might hex anyone who says anything horrible to you."  
  
Remus blinked, and then his face closed and he put on his polite, mild-mannered mask. This was Severus' least-favorite thing about Remus. It was a lie. He'd seen the man ready to murder Peter Pettigrew in cold blood, after all. But the mild, harmless mask was some kind of protective camouflage, so he ground his teeth and started to pace.  
  
"Severus?" Remus asked. "Are you all right?"  
  
Severus stopped pacing. He thought for a moment that he might shout, wave his arms, throw things. But what came out of his mouth was, "I'm an idiot."  
  
"You're not an..."  
  
"I thought this wouldn't hurt."  
  
They'd never been close, not really. His father had been senile in the end and hadn't recognized him, but had told friends and strangers about his son the wizard and potions genius, hence his moving into the Dilys Derwent home. He'd thought he'd be relieved. Stupid. Idiotic.  
  
He'd thought that the ornery old bastard would outlive him.  
  
He was headed towards the wardrobe to kick it again when Remus grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. He was warm, and his body was pleasantly firm.  Which was comforting, but it wasn't like he could cry like a baby on Remus' shoulder when he needed go deal with things. He murmured, "You need to pack, too."  
  
"In a moment," Remus said, and didn't let go.

* * *

 

**Kyrie**  
  
Remus spent the night holding Severus in Severus' huge four-poster bed in his parents’ house in Spinner’s End.  It looked like a castoff from Hogwarts, and almost completely filled the room.  Severus must have used magic to get it through the door.  The mattress was a little lumpy;  there was a dip in the center, like it had once belonged to a larger, heavier person.  But the bedding was soft and warm. 

Severus was using a window sill as a nightstand on the side where the bed was pressed completely against the wall.  It currently held an old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock and a glass of water.  There was a small dresser at the foot of the bed and barely enough room for someone to squeeze through to the other side or open a drawer.  Remus assumed Severus didn't do either frequently, or used magic to make enough space. 

To be honest, he’d known Severus' family had been poor the first day at Hogwarts without Severus saying a word. That might have been the reason behind James' and Sirius' hostility, although they’d never have admitted it. But even knowing that, he’d been appalled at the house. It wasn't simply that it was rubbish--he’d lived in rubbish places, after all. It was the overall beaten-down grimness of it.  
  
Severus had lain awake on the bed with his head on Remus' shoulder, Remus petting his hair, until he'd finally fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning. Remus had dozed a little, waking up at unfamiliar sounds from time to time. The house creaked in unfamiliar ways, and had a smell he couldn't quite place.  Dust, perhaps, or mildew.   Sometimes a car would drive by, surprisingly loud, or he would hear what sounded like teenagers talking in the street.  But the familiar warm weight on his shoulder was reassuring.   
  
The funeral home opened at 8, and they were out of bed and dressed--Severus in jeans, a black shirt, and Doc Martins, and Remus in jeans, a plain shirt, and brown cardigan--and at the funeral home before 9, despite the fitful sleeping. They had no breakfast because Severus had no groceries in Spinner’s End. The funeral home did offer them coffee, which Remus accepted gratefully.  
  
Mr. Brown of Brown and Littlefield was a short, balding, genial man with a gentle demeanor, which was probably necessary in his line of work. They expressed a bunch of polite pleasantries, which Remus tuned out a bit because he really needed the coffee.  Mr. Brown led them down a black and white tile floor into a private room with a desk, chairs, and a rug.  The entire building had that hospital disinfectant smell. 

Severus wrote Mr. Brown a check--a Muggle check, on a Muggle bank--that seemed a bit high to Remus, but what would he know? Andromeda had handled all of Dora's arrangements because he'd been broke, broken, and useless. Well. He shouldn't be so nasty about himself; he'd been sent to St Mungo's with severe depression, and his therapist had told him those kinds of unkind thoughts about himself didn't help.  
  
And then Mr. Brown said, "Would you like to see him?" As if this were a normal thing to say.  
  
Severus blinked, appeared to think about it for a moment, and then said. "Yes, thank you." He turned to Remus. "You needn't come if you don’t want to."  
  
Remus stood. "I'm here to be a supportive friend. I'll come with you."  
  
"Are you certain?" Severus said. "I don't imagine this will be pleasant."  
  
"It can't be worse than seeing Dora," Remus said. He looked over at Mr. Brown, and added, "My late wife."  
  
"I'm very sorry for your loss," Mr. Brown said.  
  
Severus was still hesitating, so Remus said, "If you want me to wait outside, I will. This is about what you want, not what I want."  
  
Severus stood. "Well. Come on, then."  
  
The two of them followed Mr. Brown back down the black and white tile hall into a very cold room with a closed casket in it. Mr. Brown opened the lid. It was so quiet in the room that raising the lid sounded loud.   
  
The man inside was tall, grey-haired, and had clearly been muscular before he’d grown old and shrunken in on himself, but he otherwise looked a lot like Severus. He was wearing an old, unfashionable, and somewhat rumpled grey suit that looked like he might have bought it in the 1960s.  Even dead, he looked like he would probably be uncomfortable in that suit.   
  
Severus took a deep breath, laid his hand cautiously on his father's chest, and slowly exhaled. He stood there, still and silent, for a few moments, and then stepped back. "Thank you," he said to Mr. Brown.  
  
Mr. Brown closed the lid.

* * *

 

**Confutatus**  
  
Severus eyed the fish and chips suspiciously while Remus put away groceries. "You were the one who wanted lunch."  Remus had found his parents' dishes and put their carry-out on the plain yellow plates.  The cabinets were still painted that nasty blue--Severus made a mental note to repaint them.  And the kitchen table and chairs were the only pieces of furniture that had belonged to his parents, mainly because he didn't really use the kitchen.  On the rare occasions when he was here, he got carry-out and ate it in the living room.   
  
"Almost done," Remus said, putting a large can of coffee away next to the porridge. "You should start without me."  He opened the refrigerator and put eggs and milk inside.  The refrigerator door closed.  Then there was a bag rattling and the sounds of more things being placed into cabinets, and cabinet doors opening and closing.   
  
Severus took a bite, and realized two things. First, that he was ravenous. Second, that this was the single most delicious food he'd ever eaten in his life. He scarfed it down and started eyeing Remus' portion.  He could smell it on the other side of the table, tempting him.   
  
Remus closed the last cupboard door. "At least we'll have coffee in the morning." He sat down, looked at Severus' empty plate, and stood up again and got a package of chocolate biscuits out of the cupboard and put them on the table. Then he started eating his lunch. "It's good."  
  
Severus tore open the package of biscuits and ate one. They were delicious. He hadn't realized he wanted them and had even made a face when Remus bought them, but he was glad they were here now. 

They ate together in companionable silence, and then Severus asked, "Are you religious?"  
  
"No," Remus said. Then he smiled wryly, and said, "Well. I'm C of E, but I haven’t been to services in decades. Dora and I didn't even get married in a church."  
  
Severus reached over and took a chip off Remus' plate and ate it.  Remus just looked amused, so he took another. 

"My father was Catholic," Severus said. "Have you ever been to Mass?"  
  
"No," Remus said. He looked a little uncertain at this. 

"Well, since you're not Catholic, just stand up when everyone else stands up and sit down when everyone else sits down. Kneeling, reading prayers, and singing hymns are optional; if you don't feel like doing it, just sit quietly. And don't take communion."  
  
"Right," Remus said. "Seems simple enough. Thanks." He popped a chip into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "So you were raised Catholic?"  
  
"Confirmed and everything," Severus said, and took another biscuit.  
  
"Are you still?"  
  
Severus laughed. "Oh, once you're Catholic, you're always Catholic. Even if you decide you don't believe in God and stop practicing and sin right and left; then you're just a terrible one." He took a bite of his biscuit.  
  
Remus smiled at him. "Are you religious, then?"  
  
Severus stopped chewing for a moment. It was a surprisingly difficult question to answer. Finally, he swallowed and said, "It's complicated."  
  
"I see," Remus said. "Do you believe in God?"  
  
"Yes," Severus said, without hesitation.  
  
Remus tilted his head at him curiously, but didn't ask anything. Perhaps he didn't know which questions to ask.  
  
"I haven't been to services in years, either," Severus said. "I think Mum's funeral was the last time. Father handled all the arrangements for that, and I was angry at how religious it was because she wasn't." He suddenly felt terrible about that.  "She only went through the motions to please him. But Father was very devout, so he should have everything very religious."  
  
Remus didn't say anything, but he reached across the table and took Severus' hand. His fingers were long and warm and slightly calloused.  A car playing loud music drove by outside.   
  
"I'm a little nervous about talking to Father Michael," Severus said, and was immediately mildly appalled that he did. And yet, he didn't stop talking. "It's not like he's going to berate me or anything. He's just going to want me to... be more Catholic."  
  
"And that's complicated," Remus said.  
  
"Yes," Severus said. He sighed. "If you're finished, we should go."  
  
"Right," Remus said.  He stood and put the dishes in the sink. "Ready when you are."

* * *

 

**Sanctus**  
  
Saint Bartholomew's was a large brick building with stone steps and a large stone archway over the door. Remus followed Severus up the stairs and into the building. They stepped through a small entry area and through stained glass doors.  
  
Inside, the church was airy Romanesque arches on columns and the faint smell of molten wax. A series of paintings in a sort of 1960s modern art style lined one wall. There was stained glass high above, and a dome at the center of where the congregation sat. At the front, an elaborate altar area with Gothic sculptures in niches surrounded what Remus assumed was the main altar. Other elaborately sculpted areas were visible off to the left and right, one of which had rows of lit candles. He never would have guessed from the exterior.  There were people moving about quietly, sometimes speaking in hushed voices, some kneeling quietly in the pews.   
  
Severus dipped his fingers into a font of water near the door, crossed himself, and continued off to the right, away from the paintings. Remus didn’t know whether he was supposed to do that as a visitor or not, but decided it was more respectful to not mindlessly mimic and followed.  
  
There was a narrow hallway with a stairwell visible off to the side. Severus headed down the hall, but turned left at the stairwell and continued to the end of the hall. He knocked on a door labeled "Father Michael."  
  
"Come in," a voice called from inside.  
  
Severus opened the door and went in. Remus followed.  
  
The office was clean but old and worn, with industrial dark red carpet that might possibly date back to the 1950s and what was possibly false wood paneling. The desk was large and unpretentious. Two comfortable-looking chairs that looked well used sat in front of the desk.  It smelled a bit dusty, but the room was very clean so that was probably something to do with the age of the furniture.   
  
Father Michael was a tall, thin, elderly man with thick snowy white hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a kind face. "Ah, Severus, good afternoon. I've been expecting you." He smiled. "As I recall, you had very definite opinions about your mother's funeral. I assumed you would be similarly particular about your father."  
  
Severus shrugged, but it was more of a sheepish gesture. "My father was very devout. He should have everything. A big mass. All of it. I suspect you might know what hymns he liked better than I do."  
  
Father Michael regarded Severus thoughtfully. "You could have told me this over the telephone."  
  
"I don't have a phone in the house because I don't live there full-time. I usually live up at the school where I teach."  
  
Father Michael looked like he wasn't certain whether he believed this explanation or not. Remus was suddenly reminded of Dumbledore, but couldn't put his finger on why. "I see," he said. He looked over at Remus and said, "You haven’t introduced your friend."  
  
"Oh," Severus started, but Remus interrupted him.  
  
"Remus Lupin," he said, rising out of his chair, extending a hand, and smiling. "I'm a friend. Here to be supportive."  
  
Father Michael leaned forward, took his hand, and shook it. His hand was warm. "Pleased to meet you, Remus. I'm Father Michael, of course."  
  
"Sir," Remus said, but at Father Michael's amused expression quickly corrected that to "Father."  
  
Father Michael smiled at him, his eyes warm. Then he turned back to Severus. "Do you mind if I ask you some personal questions in front of your friend, or would you prefer he wait outside?"  
  
Severus lifted his chin in an almost teenaged expression of defiance. "He can stay."  
  
"All right," Father Michael said. "When was your last confession?"  
  
Severus looked like someone had shoved a pickled toad down his throat. "I was 19," he mumbled.  
  
"And the last time you attended services?"  
  
"Mum's funeral." Severus was starting to look a bit green. This was most likely what he had been nervous about. He gave Father Michael the almost teenaged upraised chin of defiance again.  
  
"I see," Father Michael said. "Have you lost your faith?"  
  
"No," Severus mumbled, and lowered his eyes.  
  
"Then why have you stayed gone so long?"  
  
The room was silent for a very long time. Remus could hear a clock ticking on the desk. Severus crossed his arms and stared at the floor. Father Michael watched him in benevolent yet firm silence. Remus suspected that the two of them could sit like that for a very, very long time. He realized that he had no idea who would win this showdown.  
  
Finally, Remus was so uncomfortable that he said, "If you'd rather not answer that with me in the room, I could..."  
  
Severus' hand shot out almost faster than the eye could see and caught him around the wrist. He hadn't lifted his eyes or otherwise changed his expression, however.  
  
"Or I could stay right here," Remus said. "That's fine."  
  
Father Michael looked at Severus' hand on Remus' wrist, then looked into Remus' eyes.  
  
Remus put on his best polite, mild-mannered face and said, "That's a lovely clock on your desk. Is it an antique?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Severus smirk momentarily, but the expression was quickly gone and replaced by his blankest face. He kept his other arm held stiff across his body, though. His grip on Remus' wrist was firm, but not hard enough to hurt.   
  
Father Michael said, in a soft, gentle voice, "I hope this isn't the reason you've stayed away, Severus."  
  
"It's not." Severus' face was still blank, but his voice was still mulish.  
  
"Well?" Father Michael seemed infinitely patient. Of course, he probably had decades of experience. Including, Remus realized, possibly--probably?--teenaged Severus.  
  
There was another long pause, and then Severus said, "I didn't want to make confession."  
  
Father Michael smiled at him. "Do you really think you've done something God can’t forgive?"  
  
"Not exactly," Severus said.  
  
"Then what?"  
  
Severus took a deep breath, then exhaled. "I don't think I deserve forgiveness."  
  
Remus tried to take Severus' hand, but Severus wouldn't let go of his wrist. He looked over at Father Michael.  
  
"That's not your decision to make," Father Michael said. "That's for God to decide."  
  
Severus closed his eyes and sat there, silent, his hand still clamped around Remus' wrist.  
  
"I'd like to hear your confession now," Father Michael said. "Your friend can wait outside."  
  
Severus took a deep breath, exhaled, and released Remus' wrist.  
  
Remus stood and laid a hand on Severus’ thin, bony shoulder. "I'll just sit in the pews and wait for you." He left the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

* * *

 

**Lacrymosa**  
  
Severus was sobbing by the end of it, just like he knew he would be. He’d wept when he got to Lily, of course, but it was Albus who had him sobbing the hardest, much to his surprise. Well. He supposed that one was fresher.  
  
"Well," Father Michael said. "I can see why you were concerned." His voice was gentle, though.  
  
It was all right. Even if Father Michael followed that up with, _You're right, you can't be forgiven, you're going to hell,_ he'd still feel better for having done this. It was a relief to get rid of the dread he'd been carrying around for over two decades.  
  
But what Father Michael said was, "It was very cruel of your friend to ask you to kill him. Did you tell him you were Catholic and couldn’t do it?"  
  
Severus looked up, fresh tears springing to his eyes. "I... not as such. But I did express concerns for the state of my soul."  
  
Father Michael said nothing.  
  
"He was more concerned about the soul of the teenager who would be forced to do it if I didn't. He said that only I could say whether it would damage my soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation."  
  
"Whether you want to call it assisted suicide or euthanasia, it's still a mortal sin."  
  
"I know," Severus said. "I told him I wasn't going to do it, but in the moment he... begged me." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve again. "I'm sorry. I know it was wrong. I didn't want to, and I told him I wouldn't several times, but when the time came, I..." He felt a wave of self-disgust. "Allowed myself to be manipulated. Again."  
  
"As I said," Father Michael said. "Very cruel."  
  
There was a moment of silence. Severus took a tissue and blew his nose and looked back down at the floor.  There was a cigarette burn on the carpet, and he suddenly found himself wondering if that had been his father's doing.   
  
"Well?" Father Michael said.  
  
Severus looked up, puzzled.  
  
"Is there more?"  
  
"Don't you think that's enough?"  
  
Father Michael gave him a repressing, exasperated look and said, "I meant that if you were finished with your confession, it's time for your contrition."  
  
Severus blinked. "Oh." He dried his eyes and blew his nose again. "Sorry." He took a deep breath. "O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. But most of all because I have offended you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life. Amen." The words should have felt rote because he learned them as a child, but they didn't.  
  
Father Michael replied, "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."  
  
On some level Severus had obviously thought this wouldn't happen, because he was surprised. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he was sitting taller. "Thank you."  
  
"For your penance," Father Michael continued, "I'd like you to be a practicing Catholic again. Come to services every week. Pray the rosary daily. Come to confession at least monthly. You’re clearly using staying away as a method to torture yourself."  
  
"Yes, Father." Severus was surprised at how meek his voice sounded.  
  
"And I want you to be evaluated by a psychiatrist or psychologist and receive therapy."  
  
Severus sat up even straighter, indignant. "You think I'm mad?  Is that why you absolved me?  You went easy on me because you think I'm...."  
  
"I'm not qualified to diagnose mental illness," Father Michael said, "so no, I absolved you because you were genuinely remorseful. I do, however, think that you might suffer from depression or a similar ailment that would benefit from someone who _is_ qualified examining you."  
  
"Oh," Severus said. He suspected he looked like the stroppy teenager version of himself Father Michael used to know, but didn’t care. He stared at the floor.  That cigarette burn really could have been from anyone.  He wondered who would dare smoke in here.   
  
"Tell me you’re going to therapy."  
  
Severus sighed heavily. "Yes, Father."  
  
"All right. You can go now, but I'll see you at the funeral _and_ next Sunday."  
  
"Yes, Father." He stood up and walked over to the door. He turned back and said, "Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," Father Michael said.  
  
Severus walked back down the hall. Remus was sitting in the pew next to the hallway, and stood up when he saw him coming.  He had a worried expression.   
  
"You were in there forever," Remus said. "Are you all right?"  
  
Severus smiled at him. "Yes, but I could use a nap."  
  
Remus smiled back. "So could I. I didn't sleep well, either."  
  
They walked back to the house together.

* * *

 

**Lux Aeterna**  
  
Remus watched Severus wind the alarm clock and place it on the window sill. "Do you think we'll oversleep for the funeral in the morning?"  
  
"Visitation is tonight from seven to nine," Severus said. "I should be there."  
  
"Right," Remus said. "Should I invite anyone from the school?"  
  
"I... well. This is more for Father's friends." He lay down on the bed fully clothed, on top of the dark green duvet. Then he patted the bed next to him.  
  
Remus smiled and lay down next to Severus, then curled up against him. Severus was looking up at the low ceiling, breathing slowly.  The duvet was a bit rough, but Severus was warm and his skin was soft. 

Remus glanced up, too.  The posts on the four-poster almost touched the ceiling. Remus could hear Severus' soft breath next to him... until the sounds of male voices, and what sounded like boards being pulled away from a window.  Squatters?   
  
"Thank you," Severus said.  
  
"I could use a nap, too," Remus said.  
  
"That’s not what I meant."  
  
"Oh," Remus said. "You're welcome." He moved even closer, pressing his forehead against Severus' smooth, warm neck. "I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed."  
  
"He absolved me," Severus said.  
  
"Oh," Remus said. He wasn't sure what to say. _Congratulations? That's wonderful?_ He finally settled for, "I'm glad."  
  
Severus sighed.  "He wants me to attend services regularly."  
  
Remus considered this.  If this was something Severus wanted to do, it would be easier with support.  "Do you want me to come with you?"  
  
Severus pulled away enough to crane his head and look at Remus, his eyes curious.  
  
"It seems to make you feel better, so I'm in favor," Remus said.   
  
Severus seemed satisfied by this answer. He settled back down and said, "I'd like that."  
  
"Good," Remus said. "We can come down here on Saturday nights together, spend the night, and go in the morning."  
  
Severus kissed him on the forehead. "I'm exhausted. Otherwise..."  
  
Remus grinned. "There's always later tonight or tomorrow."  
  
The two of them settled down again. Remus closed his eyes.  


* * *

  
  
**Communio**

Remus didn't remember when he dozed off, but the next thing he knew the alarm was going off. It sounded like something intended to summon the police or fire services. He sat bolt upright, his heart racing. "Gah!"  
  
Severus, as usual, was slow to wake. He blinked in the general direction of the clock and made a rude gesture at it.  
  
"Please shut that off!" Remus said.  
  
Severus muttered something grouchy-sounding that Remus didn't catch and stumbled upright, groping for the clock, and silenced it. He sniffed loudly, then sat up.  
  
They put on dark jackets, and Severus put something large and flat in his pocket. A CD of music for the visitation?  
  
They walked back to the funeral home together. Mr. Brown was waiting for them. "You'll be in room three." As they headed back, they passed a sign repeating this information. Well. People attending funerals weren't always at their best.  
  
Inside room three, there was an open casket with Severus' father in it, a bunch of tables covered with white tablecloths, chairs, and some sound equipment in the corner. Soothing music played quietly.  It smelled of disinfectant, and another smell that Remus preferred not to think too hard about.   
  
"Right," Severus muttered. "He'd hate that music."  
  
They walked over to a couple of chairs near the casket and waited. Remus wondered what would happen if no one showed up.  
  
He needn't have worried. A small parade of middle-aged and elderly people came in and started milling around, talking, shaking Severus' hand and offering condolences. They were clearly people from the neighborhood. Their clothes were old, but clean and dark-colored.  A large, balding man in a threadbare navy blue jacket told Severus, "Your father ran the union until the mill closed. Best leader we ever had. Brilliant negotiator. Balls of steel."  
  
"I've heard that," Severus said. "I can believe it."  
  
The man looked pleased and wandered off, and an elderly woman with a cane and her hair in a bun wandered over and started telling Severus a long story about his parents. Severus nodded patiently. Other people mainly seemed interested in expressing their condolences.  
  
Somehow, it had never occurred to Remus that Tobias might be popular. From the very few things he'd heard from Severus, he'd always had the impression of Tobias as ill-tempered. Perhaps it was the wizarding world he'd disliked.  
  
Another elderly man wandered over, described Tobias as "a legendary scrapper," and started telling Severus a long, involved story about a fistfight the two of them had been involved in, during which they'd soundly thrashed two other men who apparently deserved it.  "Your father could punch like no one I've ever seen!"  Severus nodded politely.  
  
After what seemed to be an interminable amount of this, Severus walked over to stand next to the casket and said, "May I have your attention, please?" He'd mastered the ability to get attention without raising his voice from long years of teaching, so everyone fell silent.  
  
"My father had a special request for his visitation," Severus said, then smirked. "Well. He originally asked for it for his funeral, but Father Michael put his foot down."  
  
There was an appreciative chuckle.  
  
"Father wanted a special musical selection played. Honestly, I wasn't certain it was appropriate, but you know my father. Never let me hear the end of it if I don't do it." He rolled his eyes. "I'd really rather not go through eternity with him constantly yammering at me about how I didn't honor his last wishes, so...." He walked over to the sound equipment. "Right. Time to turn off this bullshit."  
  
There was more laughter as Severus ejected one CD and put in the one from his pocket.  
  
And then, electric guitars, incredibly loud. It was the Sex Pistols, "Anarchy in the U.K." Remus could feel the pounding rhythms in his feet through the floor.   
  
Severus turned back around, smirking. People were laughing and crying at the same time. Remus felt himself smile broadly.  
  
Mr. Brown flung the door open, his face wrathful, and mimed turning a dial down.  
  
Severus turned the music down to a less ear-damaging level, but still quite loud, and smiled beatifically at Mr. Brown.  
  
Mr. Brown scowled and mimed turning the dial down again.  
  
Severus turned the music down to a more reasonable level.  
  
Mr. Brown came into the room then. "It's quite simply not appropriate," he said, raising his voice to carry over the music. "Can't you play 'My Way' or something?"  
  
Severus' smile grew wider. "If you like." He turned around and pressed a button on the CD player.  
  
Sid Vicious' version of "My Way" came out of the speakers. People started their simultaneous laughing and crying again. One extremely elderly man was beating the table and laughing with tears running down his face. Remus didn't know whether the tears were from grief or laughter. He supposed it didn't matter.  
  
Mr. Brown threw up his hands, rolled his eyes, and left. Remus felt a little sorry for him, but only a little. This was clearly what the mourners needed.  


* * *

 

**Tuba Mirum**

Severus turned the music off when "My Way" was over.  He popped the CD out and put it back in his pocket.  

Mr. Roberts from next door came over and slapped him on the back.  "You're Toby's boy, by God, you really are!" 

That hurt, unexpectedly.  But it also felt good.  "Thank you."  He walked across the room to where Remus was standing and smiling. 

Remus said, "That was brilliant."

"It was my father's idea."

"You carried it out well," Remus said. 

Someone else came over to tell yet another long, involved story about his father.  He was torn between love, envy that this person knew his father in a way he never would, and sadness.  He simultaneously did and didn't want to hear it.  He kept his face polite and nodded in all the right places, though. 

People were starting to leave.  Severus was relieved.  He'd needed this, but he was exhausted from it.  And ravenous again.  How had that happened?  "We should get dinner." 

They left then, nodding to Mr. Brown who looked a bit sullen, but who otherwise seemed to be recovering from his Sex Pistols induced trauma, and headed down the dark cobblestone street.  Severus said, "There's a good Indian place around the corner." 

They walked past some rubbish bins, and around a corner.  The streets were wet;  it must have rained while there were inside. There was an awning and some neon in the window of the place across the street with the restaurant name:  Nayaab Tandoori.  Plain tables were visible through the windows.  The street was quiet.  They seemed to be the only ones out.

"I have to admit I'm surprised," Remus said.  "I always had the impression that..."  There was an awkward pause.  "He sounds like he was quite the character." 

"He was," Severus said.  There was an unspoken question there, so he answered it.  "I thought I hated him for a long time, but apparently I was wrong."

Remus didn't say anything, but he looked curious.  A single drop of rain landed on Severus' cheek. 

Severus sighed and answered the second unspoken question.  "He hit me when I started to manifest magic." 

Remus stopped in his tracks, turned, and stared at him.

"Mum didn't tell him she was a witch until then.  They were happy together and he was a good father until strange things started happening without my intending them.  And of course, hitting me just made it worse.  It usually happened when he'd been drinking.  They fought about magic all the time.  And about me." 

Remus had raised a shaking hand to cover his mouth.  He stood there, staring, looking pale under the streetlight. 

"Finally, Father Michael found out. He called the child protection system, and the police came 'round and threatened to put my father in jail and take me away.  That was the end of it."  He shook his head, then looked towards the restaurant.  He turned back to Remus. 

Remus was still shaking and staring at him.  "I kind of want to beat him up, but he's already dead."

That was a surprisingly comforting reaction.  "Ah, you wouldn't want to mess with him.  He was a legendary scrapper, you know." 

Remus snorted.  "I'm stronger than I look."   The amusement was mild and faded quickly, though.  "So that whole thing we just did was a lie?" 

Severus sighed explosively.  "Of course not!  People are complicated, Remus."  People were more than the worst thing they'd ever done.  And perhaps that wasn't how he wanted to remember his father.  He pressed his lips together to avoid saying something unfortunate.  He had the strongest impulse to say something nasty, but instead he said, "Come on, I'm starving."  Someone came out of the restaurant and headed down the street in the opposite direction, and the delicious smell of curry wafted across the street. 

"I'm... going to need a moment," Remus said. 

Remus was going to need a moment.  _Remus_ needed a moment for Severus' trauma?  Severus was starting to feel impatient, when it struck him that Remus needed a moment to deal with _his_ trauma. 

Remus needed a moment.  To deal with _his_ trauma. 

Severus stepped forward, and placed a hand on Remus' shoulder.  "It's all right.  It was a long time ago."  A sad thought occurred to him.  "And apparently he regretted it later, because when his mind started to go he started to tell everyone about his son the wizard."  He thought for a moment he might start weeping in the street, but managed not to. 

A single tear slid down Remus' face.  He wiped it away.  "Can we get carry out?" 

"I'd like that," Severus said.  "I'm a bit socialized out, to be honest." 

Remus laughed, but it was a weak laugh.  "You were brilliant.  Amazing.  The best son ever." 

The compliment both warmed his heart and hurt, but he didn't tell Remus that.   They headed towards the restaurant together. 

* * *

  
**Benedictus**

As far as Remus was concerned, the most important thing he'd learned at the funeral was that Severus had a lovely singing voice. Attending services with Severus would be worth it to hear him sing. It would even be worth sitting in those damned uncomfortable pews. That wasn’t the sort of observation he felt comfortable interrupting a funeral to make, so he waited until they were walking home from the grave site.  

Severus only shrugged, but he seemed pleased.  
  
The cemetery was right next to the church and had marble monuments, some of which looked extremely old.  Some of them were very elaborate, but most were modest.  Severus' father had a simple, temporary paper marker until the official headstone was finished. 

They were finally back at the house before Severus said, "He wants me to get therapy, too."  
  
Remus looked over at Severus, curious.  
  
"Father Michael," Severus clarified.  He sat down in a large chair in the living room.     
  
"Ah." Remus considered this, sitting in the chair next to it. The room was completely filled with books, floor to ceiling, giving off that wonderful leather and paper book smell.  He wondered if Severus had read them all.  He wondered if Severus would mind if _he_ read some of them.  "It's not so bad. I've done it."  
  
"Right," Severus said. There was a long pause, and then he said, "I'm exhausted."  He stood back up and headed towards the stairs.   
  
"Do you need lunch first?"  
  
"Nap first, lunch second," Severus said. He walked up the narrow staircase, pulling off his jacket as he went.  
  
Remus followed him. "Did you see Minerva in the back row?"  
  
"I did," Severus said. "Please remind me to thank her for attending if I forget." He pulled off the suit and folded it, placing it on the dresser. "Which I probably will. I don't know why I'm so forgetful right now." He turned back towards the bed. "Well. I suppose I do. It's something the brain does in times of extreme stress. Just...."  
  
"I will," Remus said, taking off his suit, folding it, and placing it next to Severus'.  
  
They pulled back the covers and lay down together in their underwear. Severus put his head on Remus’ shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

Remus tucked him in, kissed him gently on the forehead, and closed his eyes. 


End file.
